


Amicable Toil

by dadrithiad



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apples, Autumn, Community: hp_drizzle, Elemental Magic, Gen, HP Drizzle Fest 2019, Horticulture, Orchard, Rain, Rituals, farming, harvest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-09-02 00:51:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20267329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dadrithiad/pseuds/dadrithiad
Summary: Three years after the war, Neville found his escape at his family’s apple orchard, and now toils away tirelessly day in and day out at his apple orchard. Harry, meanwhile, needs an escape. What are friends for?





	Amicable Toil

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed writing this work, and I hope the anonymous prompter enjoys it! The orchard idea was a fun exercise, so I say, thanks. It was fun to research how apple orchard works, but also to create a magical spin on it. I also decided to use numerology to drive the plot/arcs I explored in this story. That was a blast as well. Lastly, thanks to my cousin who beta'd this for me!

**– 1 – Efforts  
** _5 September, 2001_  
  
If you’d asked Neville Longbottom three years ago what he’d be doing, running his family’s apple orchard certainly would not have been his answer. He’d considered a few things, most notably a Herbology apprenticeship, but in the days and weeks that came after the war, he’d found he just needed to get _away. _He’d found he’d needed hard work, and solitude. 

Neville found himself reminiscing as his tea steeped. The many Longbottom properties, and odd businesses, hadn’t made it through the war unscathed, as it turned out. And of the damaged properties, the apple orchard, Rosenwyn Orchard, in the south of England was by far the worst. Not only did the orchard itself and housing structures sustain atrocious damage in an attack that occurred the _day_ before the Battle of Hogwarts, but the Longbottoms had also lost their head horticulturist, Albert Beery, older brother of Herbert Beery, to the senseless violence. They had also lost his son and daughter-in-law, who had been visiting at the time. He was survived by his wife, Alberta Beery, and granddaughter, Tegen Beery, who the Longbottom solicitors and property managers had whisked away to another property in France after the attack had occurred. It was there that they would remain until the orchard could be repaired, because, though they were not sure of the ultimate future of the orchard, Mrs. Beery, and Tegen as well, would always have a home with the Longbottoms. 

Though hidden from Muggles in the Cotswolds, the orchard had been a prime destination for wizarding tourism and as such, a well-known location to all magicals. What was also well known was who the orchard belonged to, and Augusta and Neville both held the firm belief that the attack on the orchard as well as other properties had been retaliation for Neville’s behavior at school in his seventh year. 

The Longbottoms had also had to contend with what to do with the losses of a large portion of their house-elf population – ultimately using their solicitors and property managers to enlarge the cemetery onsite to ensure each house-elf had their own burial plot and grave. The property manager and solicitor had suggested a mass grave and commemorative plaque, but Augusta had consulted Neville who wouldn’t stand for it. 

They’d lost nearly half the orchard in the attack that had occurred, and there hadn’t been anything Neville could do to save those trees. He repaired the paddock fencing as best he could, and regrew the grass. He’d debated leaving the trees as a monument to the fallen, but ultimately banished them, re-planting new apple trees in their place, and in the case of one particular paddock, planted oak trees, renamed it to Derowen Beery, carving a new sign himself by hand. He had also commissioned, from a Goblin artist, a beautiful bronze statue of an apple tree, with a placard to commemorate the fallen. 

Neville had learned easily to repair what needed repairing throughout the orchard, but the cottages and house-elf quarters that dotted the open landscape between the various paddocks had taken a lot more knowledge than he’d originally had. So he’d found and consulted with a handyman, Norman Davies, who’d ended up teaching Neville all he’d need to know, and Neville made a friend, who, though older, Neville really connected with. Between Neville’s newfound knowledge and Norman’s help, they were able to repair the properties within 6 months. 

And so everything was fixed, though the shadows of the past horrors still loomed, if one were sensitive to that sort of thing. Still, the orchard was repaired, and bearing fruit. Production had stalled, but renewed again. And Neville toiled away, in the wind and the rain, and most enjoyably, to him, in the sun. He liked the sun the best, after all. It was just too bad that the sun didn’t make an appearance as often as he liked, but he’d take what he could get. 

Neville stirred sugar and a bit of milk into his tea absently, when he was broken from his ruminations by the arrival of an owl. He gave the owl a treat and took the letter, finding that it was from Harry, who he’d kept up correspondence with, but hadn’t heard from in a while. 

Harry had visited him at the orchard, once in September of 1998, while Neville was still working on the repairs, and then later in October of 1999. Neville didn’t think Harry realized, but Neville knew that Harry would turn up when he was unable to deal with life’s turmoil and the overwhelming, unbearable absence of direction. The truth was, Harry didn’t really know what to do with himself. 

He worked on repairs, and the odd attempt at redecorating, at Grimmauld Place, but never seemed to get anywhere. He seemed to be overwhelmed by the sheer volume of all that he wanted to do, and couldn’t seem to focus on completing his renovations, instead flitting from task to unfinished task, with the gaps of time between each task growing larger and larger. He never seemed to complete anything. He went to the pub more often than not, though he did not drink in excess. He spent time with Ron and Hermione, though less than one would expect. Neville didn’t think he realized it but it seemed to him that Harry felt more and more the odd man out as Ron and Hermione’s relationship progressed. 

Neville read between the lines of the letter Harry had sent and could tell that Harry needed sanctuary. He didn’t think that anything was especially wrong, but he could tell that he needed to get away. And so Neville began to pen his reply that yes, of course it was all right if he came ‘round on the 19th of September.

Neville had always been sensitive to nature, and magic, but there were other sensitivities he couldn’t explain, and hadn’t really tried. In this moment, he felt as though he could sense the waves of change, as one would the gentle waves of a lazy sea. As he stared out of the window, somehow unseeingly at the sheet of rain coming down, listening to the dull roar, he couldn’t help but think this felt like a new beginning.

-ooo-  


**– 2 – Preparation  
**  
_12 September, 2001_

Neville wasn’t quite sure, but he felt as though time ticked away differently at the orchard. He didn’t see how a week had passed, but pass it had, nonetheless. He’d tended the deep red Rosenwyn apples for which the orchard was named, with loving and cautious care, as the vast majority were about ready to harvest, while some already were. He’d instructed one of his favorite house-elves to prepare the cottage closest to his own for guests, with fresh linens and crockery, anticipating Harry’s arrival.

He eyed the basket of apples that he’d picked early, deciding a second taste was in order. He took a large, decadent bite, and his eyes closed. This particular variety was quite intriguing. Though the Rosenwyn apples had received their name from the rosy red coloring of both the apples and the leaves, Neville thought the most important part of the apple was the slightly tart bite that they called the “thorns.” A meager hint of tart, so minor that it almost always only came out as an aftertaste, contrasted perfectly with the rest of the flavor, almost overwhelmingly saccharine as it was. It created the perfect balance, as Neville rather thought that without it, the apples would be too sweet. 

Yes, the early ripened apples had come out perfectly, he thought to himself, and smiled. He decided it was time to check on the Bluebottles. He exited his cottage and climbed into his enchanted coach. He tapped his wand to it in the proper sequence, with the right paddock in mind, and the spokes began to turn. 

He eyed the other paddocks as he slowly rode by, mentally noting which ones he’d need to check on today. As his list grew longer, he mentally reorganized the paddocks into a list for himself and one of his most trusted house-elves, Twiggy. 

Neville thought that the peace and quiet of the orchard, the hard work, and a self-study at Occlumency had resulted in a stronger mind. He found he was no longer plagued with the frustration that he couldn’t remember anything. He now had a well-organized mind, that complemented his calm demeanor nicely. 

Arriving at the paddocks housing the Bluebottles, he took in the slowly ripening fruits. Some people found them strange, but they were definitely a successful. He could almost agree with the naysayers, but the facts were that they were simply curiosities, and the apples were delicious. When picked, they simply seemed like white apples with a hint of blue. But, when ripened, the blue tinge of the skin would deepen. However, the white fruit inside would still be visible underneath. It was an interesting effect, and not necessarily one that the world was used to seeing on apples. 

They were in a great state, so he figured they didn’t need anything from him. He was glad to have checked, though, because they were particularly temperamental. Neville continued on his journey through the paddocks. As he made his way to the last paddock, finishing his surveying, he called Twiggy to him, who appeared with a crack.

Twiggy’s ears bobbed as he spoke. “What can Twiggy be doing for Master Neville?”  
“Twiggy, I’ll need you to organize some house-elves to limb train the trees in the Celadon paddock. I’ll also need some help with the irrigation system in this paddock a bit later. Please Send Nibby to me in a few hours.”

Twiggy nodded his assent. “Right away Master Neville! Is there being anything else?” 

“No, that’ll be all, Twiggy.” 

Twiggy disappeared with another crack, and Neville made his way to the next paddock that had needed attention. 

Hours later, Neville looked up at the sky. It was a rare clear day, the sun was near scorching, and he hadn’t even noticed it was past its highest point in the sky. It was all right, though. He didn’t mind. He loved the sun. He loved being warm, and he loved all that the sun symbolized. And actually, he thought his mind was the clearest when it was sunny. He thought that was because the symbolism of the sun resonated strongly with him – especially energy, work, and clarity. He’d closed his eyes, focusing on the heat of the sun on his face. He could feel the heat radiating and tingling on his skin. Some might find it odd, but he’d always liked the feeling, and felt it was calming. 

Suddenly, a house-elf appeared in front of him. “Master Neville! Mrs. Beery is needing Master Neville to join her for tea!” chirped Bitty, in a tinkling voice that always reminded Neville faintly of wind chimes. Bitty was aptly named for her tiny appearance, for she was definitely the smallest house-elf Neville had ever met. 

“Thank you Bitty, I’ll join her in just a moment.” Neville stepped far away from the paddock – this particular species was quite sensitive to magic. Once far enough away, he cast a hasty cleaning charm. Feeling much better, though still in need of a shower, he set off for Mrs. Beery’s cottage. 

As he arrived, he found Mrs. Beery sat on her cottage’s small front porch. As he climbed the stairs, she stood to envelop him in a hug. “It’s good to see you,” he murmured. 

“Yes, dear boy. And you, as well. I know it’s quite busy around here, and I realized we hadn’t seen you in a fortnight, when I asked you ‘round to look at the ledgers with me. I thought I’d intervene. You work much too hard, I thought you could well use a break.” 

Neville smiled gratefully. He did tend to forget himself sometimes, but he didn’t necessarily mind the hard work. He hadn’t stopped for lunch today, after all. “Thank you for thinking of me, Mrs. Beery.” 

She ushered him inside, and he took a seat at the kitchen table. He peered around, looking for Tegen, but he supposed she was playing in her room, or outside. He spied the teapot on the table, along with a plate of biscuits. He poured himself a cup of tea, and was about to reach for a biscuit when Mrs. Beery placed a sandwich in front of him. He never had put a lot of stock in Divination, but sometimes he thought Mrs. Beery might have the Sight. In this particular moment, though, he was simply failing to see that he was a bit predictable. It was a running joke between the house-elves – how often Neville accidentally skipped lunch, and how they could lure him to eat. Thankfully, he had the house-elves and Mrs. Beery to keep him on track. It was indeed the elves and Mrs. Beery who helped to balance him. 

Mrs. Beery sat down across from him, and Neville realized he hadn’t told her the news. “I don’t think I told you, Harry’s coming for a visit soon. Next week.”

She smiled. “That’s wonderful news, Neville. How long will he be staying?”

Neville frowned. He hadn’t actually considered that. He was quiet for a moment. “As long as it takes, I suppose.” He said thoughtfully. 

“Too right,” she agreed. 

Neville looked down at the table, flitting his fingers in and out of striped blocks of sun that the window cast on the table. He watched the sunlight dance across his fingers. Conversation moved to other topics, though not to work. They worked their way slowly through the pot of tea, drifting from subject to subject. Neville always enjoyed his conversations with Mrs. Beery, and Tegen had joined them halfway through his visit, with scraped knees and dirt smudged on her nose. Instead of scolding Tegen, like his Gran might have, Mrs. Beery simply cast a cleaning charm her way, and told Tegen to sit for some tea. Neville sometimes worried that Tegen was lonely at the orchard, with no other children to play with, but as she recounted tales of meeting fantastical creatures in the “Great Forest” – which was really a small copse of trees that trailed behind a few of the cottages – Neville thought she was just fine. 

Neville concluded his visit, thanking Mrs. Beery for the tea and sandwiches, and transfiguring a paper bunny from a scrap of paper. He charmed it to hop as Tegen giggled in delight. Feeling renewed, he set off to finish his work for the day. 

By the end of the day, which turned out to be a late one, he’d thoroughly tired himself out. A day full of mending, watering, some intricate magic on some very particular trees, avoiding any magic near some trees that were very particular in the opposite way… Yes, he was very tired. 

As he supped on sliced apples, cured meats, and cheeses, he thought of his friend Harry. They were a study in contrasts. Where Harry was impulsive, Neville was cautious. Where Harry was bold, Neville was more restrained, or as others might say, meek. Though, if they truly knew him, they wouldn’t say that. It was just that he was reserved, and prone to consideration, where Harry was simply more brash. 

It was true that as their friendship had grown after school, they’d tended to balance each other out, like two sides of the same coin. Balance was something that Neville tried to make a primary focus, in all things, but he didn’t always succeed out here, mostly on his own, at his orchard. But balance was definitely something he craved, and in all of his experience with Harry, he knew that it was something that Harry needed as well. In school, Harry relied on Ron and Hermione to balance him out. It was true that they all had different skill sets that worked well together, arguably in the best way, since, if you asked Neville, their efforts outweighed all others in saving the wizarding world (even though they’d of course had some help.) Neville didn’t begrudge Ron or Hermione their relationship, but he knew that Harry was probably feeling off balance as a result. It hadn’t helped that he’d never rekindled his relationship with Ginny after the war, or that as the weeks and months wore on, he’d continued to isolate himself more and more from even distant friends and acquaintances, not to mention his honorary family. 

As Neville binned the remnants of his meal, and set the cleaning supplies in the sink to work washing his dishes, he thought to himself, that, yes, Harry’s visit would help immensely to restore balance, for the both of them.

-ooo-  


**– 3 – Interaction and Creation  
**  
_19 September, 2001_

__Neville sat at his kitchen table, attempting to lunch on his apples, toast and tea, but was instead tracing his finger along grains of wood he couldn’t feel, the ash table scrubbed and worn smooth over the years. Lost in thought, but getting back on track, his mind turned to his mental task list for the day. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud crack, and he found Twiggy in front of him. 

“Master Neville! Mister Harry Potter is being at the front gate! Should Twiggy be escorting him in?” 

“No, that’s all right, but thanks, Twiggy. I’ll head down to get him.” Neville slipped his wand into the pocket of his summer robes, stepping through the kitchen and out the door. He climbed into his carriage, and set off, down to the main gate. In the middle of his ride, the sun decided it would grace him with its presence, and he felt it start to warm the back of his neck. He looked up and smiled. There was a great number of clouds in the sky, but the sun had made it despite that. As the leisurely ride came to an end, he spotted Harry on the other side of the gate, with only a small bag (though it looked like the one Hermione had charmed for him with an undetectable extension charm, now that he thought about it) and smiled. Neville twisted his wrist in an odd pattern, directing his wand to open the gate. Harry began to approach, and hopped into the carriage. Neville enveloped him into a tight hug, and set to closing the gate behind them. 

“Harry, it’s good to see you,” Neville said quietly. 

“You too, Nev’. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Harry replied. 

“Definitely,” Neville said easily. They made their way to the cottage that would be Harry’s home while he was here in companionable silence. 

“I’ve charmed another carriage,” Neville said as they reached the cottage, gesturing to the faded, forest green carriage. “I wasn’t sure how long you’d be staying, but I figured it couldn’t hurt for you to have your own.”

Harry seemed more touched than Neville thought he should be, which embarrassed Neville. At Harry’s gracious thanks, Neville responded, pink cheeked, “It’s nothing, mate.” 

Neville changed the subject. “Go ahead take your stuff inside. I’m nearly finished with my work today, but there’s one more thing I’ve got to check on. Want to come along? It’s something new I’ve been working on.”

Harry noticed the glint in Neville’s eye, and his own eyes brightened, and he nodded. He rushed into the cottage, only barely taking in the clean kitchen and crockery, and dropped his bag on the couch. He left the cottage as quickly as he’d entered. Neville beckoned him back to his carriage. They clambered in, and meandered slowly to the second to last paddock. This was where Neville kept some of his more curious, and new creations. 

Harry’s eyes were drawn immediately to a small tree to the left, almost in the corner of the paddock. The wood was light, and the apples themselves were iridescent and almost appeared to be glowing. His eyes took in the soft yellow leaves, that looked smooth, almost like velvet, but not quite. “Wow,” Harry breathed. 

“It’s a new species I’ve made,” Neville said matter-of-factly. As though it was nothing special to create an entire new species of fruit. Well, _Harry_ thought it was special. “They were hard to get just right, but I’ve finally done it and got this tree to bear fruit. I think there are a few that will be ready to pick for tasting soon, and they’ll be ripe enough in a few!” It was no secret to Neville that Harry’s favorite part of the orchard was tasting all the different varieties of apples. 

“I’ll say though, they’re looking a bit weepy, they’ll need some dragon dung fertilizer. And maybe a bit more water.” Neville said, calling a house-elf to him and asking her to fiddle with the magical irrigation system. 

Then, they rode back to what to Harry had always looked like an old barn. The structure’s front was surrounded by odds and ends, old magical farming equipment, and a random pair of Wellington boots. Neville nodded to the boots and told Harry to put them on. “Keep them,” Neville murmured. “You might need them while you’re here, depending on where you wander. You’ll definitely want them for now, at least.” Harry put them on and placed his shoes into the carriage, while Neville fiddled with his gloves and grabbed a small wagon. 

They meandered through the large rooms and found their way to a room with a foul smell. “Don’t worry about helping, but be careful, it’s a bit messy in here. This won’t take long!” Neville said, as he began to shovel some dragon dung into the fertilizer. 

Harry cast his eyes around the room and out the window, lost in thought. Neville finished quickly – he hadn’t needed much, after all – and pulled the wagon behind him as they wound their way out of the building. He hitched the wagon to the end of his carriage, and they set off back to the paddock. Harry was quiet. 

“How are things?” Neville attempted. 

The slight stiffening of Harry’s posture wasn’t anything most people would notice, he didn’t think, except for Neville himself, and Ron and Hermione of course. 

“All right, I guess. I think I was getting a bit restless, with everything. I needed to get away,” came Harry’s reply after a few moments. 

“Understandable,” Neville said easily. After they’d reached the paddock, Neville eased himself out of the carriage and set to work. Harry was quiet for a few moments. 

“Do they have a name?” Harry asked as Neville spread the fertilizer. 

“Not yet,” Neville replied. “I was thinking something to do with ‘Iris,’ but that doesn’t seem quite right. Any ideas?” 

“Hmm… Let me think on that one.”

-ooo-  


**– 4 – Totality  
**  
_26 September, 2001_

“Can I help?”

Neville looked up at Harry, a bit startled. He hadn’t seen Harry yet, and he realized it was halfway through the day. He took in the dark circles under Harry’s eyes and how pale his complexion appeared. “I’d never turn down help, but you look dead on your feet, mate.” 

Harry shifted. “Well I… I didn’t really sleep too well last night. I… I had too much on my mind...” Harry’s voice trailed off. Neville just nodded, not prying. “I could really use something to take my mind off of it.” 

And so Neville set to the task of teaching Harry how to prune. With magic, because this particular variety of apple tolerated magic. Neville explained that some of the apples tolerated magic, some didn’t, and that some _liked _magic – it struck Harry that Neville would call it “liking” versus something more technical – though it made sense, as Neville always had the tendency to anthropomorphize plants. He started to show Harry the non-magical way too, but Harry clearly already possessed that skill – Neville hadn’t known. “My relatives – often the gardening was my responsibility. Those were flowers and the like, but I didn’t think it would be that different from what I learned there, or in Herbology.” 

“You’re right,” Neville affirmed, nodding.

They spent the rest of the afternoon pruning the trees in several paddocks. The rain today was gentle, barely bothering them as they pruned the leaves back. Harry didn’t bother with an Impervious charm – he liked the rain, actually. When it was gentle, he liked the feeling of rain drops running through his hair, liked to watch the rain collide with his skin, and see where the drop fell. 

Over a shared supper in Neville’s cottage, Neville explained to Harry that he would be performing a ritual later that night, and advised that if he felt any disturbances, that Harry shouldn’t worry. When Harry expressed surprise, Neville began to explain.

“Rituals are part of why this land is so fruitful. Part of why we don’t necessarily have to rely on seasons for when our trees will yield. That, and charms. The ritual I’ll perform tonight will help to maintain the balance. The balance we’ll need as fall ends to keep everything growing as we want it to.” Harry nodded thoughtfully.

“There’s one more I’ll need to do, for the sun and moon, but I won’t do that until the 30th of November, since there will be a Blue Moon that night.” Neville continued. 

“Would it be okay if I… Could I participate?” Harry asked carefully.

Neville thought for a moment. “I don’t see why not. It might even be more powerful, with two of us completing the ritual. Actually, it definitely would. Two is a powerful number, and can create balance through duality. I’d love the help. It may even be strong enough that I won’t even have to do the ritual again in the next quarter. I know for a fact that it will be easier – I’m not trying to caution you, but the ritual can be exhausting. I usually take the next day off. I think if we shared the burden, it would be easier.” 

Harry nodded decisively. They finished their supper, Neville coaching Harry on the ritual. Neville led Harry to what he called Bryn Square, named for the ancestor who’d built it. It was a large square, hewn of rough stone. It was surrounded by a copse of trees, though Harry wasn’t sure of their varieties. Interspersed in the outskirts, in gaps in the trees, there were a few small buildings. Harry wasn’t sure what they were for, but Neville cleared this up by instructing him to enter one, telling him to clean his body with the water inside, and to put on the ritual robe. 

Harry noticed that the magic was so strong here, so palpable, it could almost be felt to the touch. He’d been in ritual spaces before, but the feeling here was different. It was charged, but also calming somehow. As he pondered the strength of the magic, he felt sure in the knowledge that this space had known great power.

As Harry disrobed and began running the water down his skin, he was a little fearful, but mostly curious. He’d never participated in a ritual before, though he had read a little about them and observed a few when he was training to be an auror. He reached for a towel to dry himself off, remembering that he should be as “clean” as possible – and that included of magic. Once he was dry, he slipped the white robe from the hook. It was extremely light, and thin. It seemed to be made of something similar to silk, but he wasn’t sure what. As he put on the robe, he felt a faint sense of calm, as though something had happened to provide equilibrium to… His soul? He wondered. As he thought more on it, he realized the feeling had actually begun with the water. 

He exited the building. Neville meandered slowly about the square, tapping his wand deliberately and raising the stones in the four corners of the ritual space. He approached Harry with his satchel, and handed him two objects – an ornate, white ribbon, not fully opaque, that seemed to glow in the moonlight, and what could’ve been a mermaid scale. In his own hands, Neville held a green sort of stone – Harry thought it might be turquoise, actually – and a phoenix feather. Neville directed him to which stones to place his representations of the elements upon. 

Harry wanted to ask questions, but he figured it wasn’t the time. Neville beckoned him to stand directly across from him, and Harry wondered what would change about the ritual if they had two others to stand in the empty spaces to his left and right, between each risen stone. Another question to file away for later. He looked up to the moon, and thought it was probably time to begin the ritual. 

He held his wand decisively in the air, mirroring Neville, and at Neville’s nod, it was time to begin. Neville would lead them off. 

“To the earth, I offer. I seek bounty,” Neville begun. The magic in the space started to feel tightly coiled. 

It was Harry’s turn next. “To the air, I offer. I seek balance.” It was as if the magic was a lock of hair, being twisted around a finger. 

“To the fire, I offer. I seek light.” Neville murmured. 

“To the water, I offer. I seek abundance.” Harry finished. Harry was privately quite glad the ritual was simpler than he’d expected when Neville had first brought it up, otherwise he thought he might have had trouble.

They couldn’t see the magic, but both Harry and Neville had felt its building and coiling. It coiled tighter and tighter. All at once, it seemed the wind had picked up, yet the temperature had risen, so the wind created no cool breeze. The wind whipped their hair and robes. Rain began to fall, slowly, and only in a short burst, while the earth rumbled slightly beneath their feet. 

And then, more quickly than he expected, Harry could feel the magic dissipating. The ritual was complete, and Harry sank to his knees. Neville was panting, but still standing. 

“I’ll say… That was definitely exhausting, but much easier than the other times I’ve performed that ritual. I may have possibly fainted the last time… Twiggy had to collect me and put me to bed.” 

Harry’s brow furrowed. If it were that bad, why hadn’t Neville asked anyone for help? So he said as much. 

“Well, I never want to bother anyone,” Neville mumbled sheepishly. 

“Neville, I don’t think you could be a bother if you tried. I’d like for you to reach out to me in the future if you need help with something like this.” Harry said firmly. Neville just nodded slowly, and they made their way back to the cottages.  
They decided to have a cup of tea before they parted ways for bed. Harry decided to bring up the feeling that had come after him during and after the ritual cleansing. Neville’s response was interesting, because Harry had never heard anything of the sort before. 

“Well, cleansing doesn’t just have to be used for rituals. Cleansing can signify renewal, restoration of balance, things like that. You’re more than welcome to use the cleansing rooms in the square, or a house-elf could always set up a space in your cottage for regular use. I personally do so at least once a week, sometimes more, depending on the type of magic I’ve performed or plants I’ve been around.” Neville explained. 

Harry thought he would really like that. And in the weeks that would come, he’d find his own regular routine as well.

-ooo-  


**– 5 – Meditation  
**  
_3 October, 2001_  
“Are you falling asleep?” Harry asked from his armchair, as he studied Neville, who was laid out on the sofa. They’d since abandoned their late-night drinks and card game, both lost in thought.

“No, just occluding.” Neville answered softly. 

“Oh,” Harry exhaled. He was a bit surprised. “I didn’t know you knew Occlumency. I’ve tried a few times, but I can’t seem to get the hang of it. I never did learn how to clear my mind.” 

“I could help you, if you’d like?” Neville said, opening his eyes. 

Harry smiled faintly. “I’d like that.” 

And so Neville set to teaching Harry Occlumency. 

“I think the easiest way to clear your mind is to _narrow_ your focus, instead of just trying to stop focusing on _anything_. If you just try to stop thinking, you’ll never get it, I don’t suppose. You’ve got to direct your thoughts to one specific thing. For me, it’s focusing on my breathing, and then I essentially end up forgetting to focus on it, for a while, and then I’m in… another state, I suppose. The mind state. And at that point, my mind is clear. It doesn’t have to be breathing, though,” Neville rushed to explain. 

“You can focus on the five senses, one at a time of course. You could also focus on the different parts of your body, focusing on the sensation in each body part, until your focus drifts to nothing and your mind is clear.” Neville paused to take a breath. “Or, you could focus on the weather, too. Especially the rain, seeing how much we get. You can shut your eyes and focus on to the drops of the rain, or the sound of the wind in your ears, the warmth of the sun… Watch the snow fall, even. Sometimes I think I can hear it, too. Those all work really well, for me at least.” Harry nodded. 

“None of the methods are easy, but you can also use objects to ground you, in a way. Hmm! Yes, I think we should. Let’s go.” Neville stood decisively. 

“Where? Harry asked bewildered. 

“To the garden,” Neville smiled secretively. 

On the way out the door, Harry snagged one of the “Iris” apples that had been in a basket on the counter. He took a large bite, savoring the unique flavor. It was difficult to describe – it was sweet, but not overly so. Harry couldn’t think of anything but other fruits to describe it. It kind of tasted like what might happen if you cross bred a dragon fruit with a blood orange, and maybe a banana of all things. That sounded right, but at the same time, didn’t sound like a great combination. He shrugged to himself. Whatever they were, they were ridiculously delicious. 

“Oh, hey, did you think of a name for them?” Neville asked, spotting the apple. 

“No… I haven’t got anything.” Harry replied around the apple, swallowing. 

“Me neither.” Neville said, his voice a touch glum. 

“I really don’t think Iris is bad. It’s accurate.” Harry said matter-of-factly. 

“True, but I just want something different. Only I don’t know what.” Neville shrugged. 

They made their way to the garden, and Neville picked several geraniums. Harry felt bad, he’d had to pick most of the blooms, but Neville didn’t seem to mind. Once back in Neville’s cottage, Neville pulled what looked like a wooden, twisted crown from a trunk Harry hadn’t noticed before. Neville began to wrap and twist the stems of the flowers into the crown. Harry didn’t know how he felt about a flower crown, but as Neville finished and handed it to him, Harry slipped it on. “5 petaled flowers have always helped greatly with meditation, Occlumency, and Legilimency. You can picture the number 5 in your mind, as well. Tap each finger on one hand one at a time, things like that.” Harry just nodded. 

“Now, have you chosen which relaxation technique to use?” 

Harry nodded. “I’ll just focus on sensation.”

“Great, start with your toes – well, maybe it doesn’t matter which end you start from – and go _very_ slowly, and don’t move to the next part of your body until you’ve completely narrowed your focus down and it’s all you can feel. Only then should you move up… Or down. Your mind will start to drift on its own, don’t try to force it, just keep focusing on sensation. Don’t think about when or how it’s drifting, otherwise you’ll start thinking too hard and lose the sense of calm we’re trying to gather, here.” 

They closed their eyes, and sat there for several moments. Harry started with his toes. He didn’t understand what he was feeling – the movement of the air? Hypersensitivity to the fact that his toes existed, where he usually never gave them much thought or focus? Whatever it was, he was definitely feeling. He could almost liken it to a buzzing sensation, and when it was all his mind was focused on, he moved to the balls of his feet. 

He’d reached his ankles when he noticed his own pulse, slow and steady. But he focused back on his ankles, and moved to his calves. He continued along in that vein.

And then, somewhere between his stomach and his chest, his mind was clear. And when he would rouse, he would feel better than he’d felt in a long time. 

This time, Neville did fall asleep. But then again, so did Harry. 

The next morning, Harry couldn’t believe that he’d occluded successfully, and on the first attempt. And what was more, he felt so well rested – even though he’d fallen asleep in the armchair. 

He did have a knot in his neck, though. 

He continued occluding, with and without Neville, throughout the rest of the week and into the next. He found he was sleeping better, longer, and staying asleep, instead of tossing and turning, waking multiple times, and always being up with the sun. He also found that he’d stopped having nightmares. 

Harry was immensely thankful for Neville’s help – he’d tried Occlumency in the past but never could seem to get it right. And he could really tell that it was helping him. He felt more alert, more rested, and he could tell that his mind was generally more organized. He found it easier to recall obscure facts, regardless of their importance, and also, surprisingly, found it easier to communicate and speak his mind.

-ooo-  


**– 6 – Harvest  
**  
_10 October, 2001_  
The time for harvest had come, and the orchard was a flurry of activity. Harry didn’t think he’d seen this many house-elves since he’d been at Hogwarts. He honestly hadn’t known there were even that many house-elves on the property, though he had seen the extensive buildings where they were apparently housed. He’d also, sadly, seen the gravesites, and knew a great many had perished.

The climate was growing cooler, and the apples were all firm, the proper color, and therefore ready to be picked, before they’d start to go soft. 

Harry wanted to help with the harvest, but he rather felt he was getting in the way of the house-elves. They kindly directed him from task to task, regardless. He learned that some apples needed to be hand-picked, some could tolerate house-elf magic, and some could tolerate wizard magic. Harry found he preferred picking the apples by hand, so he chose to only work in those paddocks. 

He learned that the ones needing to be picked without magic were the most troublesome of all – not only did they need to be picked with magic, but they couldn’t be stored with magic, either. Thankfully, they could actually be transported with magic, but this was only because Neville had a fleet of large wagons, that, while charmed to move, had interior walls and ceilings of iron, that deadened the inside to any influence of magic. 

Harry emptied the basket of apples he’d picked – his fifteenth basket of the day; he liked to keep count. The wagon was about full, so he prepared to send it off to the right storage house. He’d had a bit of a mishap previously when he’d sent one to the wrong storage house and they’d almost been accidentally stored in stasis, which would have ruined them – but the house-elves, warned by the exterior design of the wagon the apples were being transported in, set things to rights, and none were ruined. 

Harry had found that his magic felt freer in his time at the orchard – as if it was easier for him to call upon it, gather, and command. A safe distance from the paddock and the unpicked apples, he placed his hand on the side of the wagon, focusing on the right destination. He’d found inadvertently that he didn’t need to use a wand to send the wagons along. When Neville had seen it, he’d cried, _“Wicked!”_

Harry catalogued his thoughts. All of his efforts were making him feel a great sense of fulfillment, so much so that he was almost giddy. But there was another feeling that he couldn’t name. He spied a few full crates of unusable apples, cast aside by the house-elves. He picked up his own crate, and carried each over to one of the smaller wagons surrounding the paddock entrance. He loaded them all into the hand wagon, toted it far from the paddock, and vanished the inedible apples. He re-entered the paddock, returning the empty crates to the house-elves hovering who were picking apples, much more quickly than Harry could. Harry knew he was more careful – he was afraid of causing even the slightest damage, while the house-elves were experts by this point. Perhaps he’d work more quickly during the next harvest. It surprised him a bit that he automatically assumed he would be around for the next harvest – as if it were a foregone conclusion. He shrugged, and went back to picking apples, and when they were down to the last few trees, and it had begun to rain in earnest, the heavens opening up to drench him, he decided to go and check in on the apple sorting. 

He made his way to the great buildings where the apples were stored and sorted. They looked a bit like greenhouses, though some were dark – those were the ones with iron walls, and were his destination. He watched a wagon making its way into one of the dark greenhouses, and followed in slowly behind it. A great number of house-elves were sorting apples in from the wagons and out to the crates, and he couldn’t help but grin as he joined in on the efforts. 

He spent the rest of the day drifting between the paddocks and the storage houses, and by 8:00, he was absolutely exhausted. It wasn’t until an hour later, freshly showered, and occluding before sleep, listening intently to the rain tapping its gentle, steady staccato on the roof, that he realized what he’d been feeling. He was healing.

-ooo-  


**– 7 – The Great Bear  
**  
_17 October, 2001_  
The harvest carried on. Harry had fallen asleep on Neville’s couch again, and was in the throes of a nightmare. He was shaken awake by Neville.

“Harry, Harry, you’re all right. It’s just a dream.” Neville said softly, peering into Harry’s slowly opening eyes. 

Harry sat up. “Dementors,” he panted. He was out of breath. He felt like he couldn’t take enough air in. His hands were trembling violently. Harry held his face in his hands, then moved them to cover his ears, digging in his palms, as if that could stop him from hearing what was in his head. It didn’t work, but the pressure helped, somehow. When he opened his eyes, he found that Neville had summoned his patronus – a large bear. Harry hadn’t seen Neville’s patronus before – it had never been corporeal in school, after all. 

Harry was mesmerized as the silvery-white bear bounded through the moonlight draped room, then crouched unassumingly in front of Harry, glowing faintly. It was an odd sight, to see a great bear in a pose so docile. But Harry took comfort in the warm, glowing presence of Neville’s patronus. Harry looked around for Neville, who it turned out was returning from the kitchen with a glass of water for Harry. He drank it gratefully. His throat was parched, and he cringed. He hoped he hadn’t been screaming, but he thought he might have been.

As the patronus calmed Harry’s nerves, and the water soothed his throat, something occurred to him. He decided to voice it to Neville. 

“You know, it’s strange that I even had a nightmare in the first place.” 

“Not so strange,” Neville began. “Occlumency definitely helps with nightmares, but it doesn’t completely block them.” Harry nodded. Neville continued, more quietly. “I still have them too, now and then.” Harry thought back to Neville’s bruised, cut face in the passageway between Aberforth Dumbledore’s bar and Hogwarts. Yes, he was sure Neville had many reasons for nightmares. 

Harry had never been much for hugs, but he knew Neville was. And if he was honest with himself, half of the comfort was for himself. After a while, Neville patted him on his shoulder, and went back to bed. Harry decided he couldn’t be bothered with returning to his own cottage – he didn’t even want to move from the couch – so he lay back, began occluding, and let his Occlumency lull him back to sleep, along with the gentle, familiar roar of the rain overhead. 

The next day was another full day of hard work, though they ended their day with a large dinner. They’d wanted to celebrate the surprise arrival of a friend of Neville’s, Norman Davies. Harry found he rather liked Davies. He was a calming presence, much like Neville. He wasn’t one for mindless conversation. His tone and the cadence of his speech lent one to the mind that anything he said was important, and that he was someone that one could learn from. Over dinner, Harry learned a few tips on home repair that he thought he’d definitely be trying at Grimmauld Place. As they feasted on the lavish meal prepared by the house-elves, and drank Elf-made wine, Harry could see why Neville liked him so much, and why he mentioned him so often.

-ooo-  


**– 8 – Divination  
**  
_24 October, 2001_  
Harry, Neville, and the house-elves continued to work hard in the days that followed of the harvest.

The days were getting a bit colder, but the temperature today was relatively mild. To Harry, this was perfect weather. Not balmy, but not too cold, either. He really loved Autumn. It was definitely his favorite season. The trees in the distance, that were not on the orchard, were in the middle of changing their colors, which was arguably beautiful, but almost disconcerting from this vantage point – standing in front of lush, leafy green trees and foliage, but staring out at red, orange, and yellow trees. Both were in his direct line of sight. It was a bit odd, but he found it interesting.

Harry turned back to the paddock, and noticed that Tegen had arrived, who was looking quite bored. 

“Harry, will you come have tea with me? Grandmother is busy, but I want to have tea before the warming charm on the pot kicks in, it makes it taste different! And you haven’t been to see me!” She cried in a rush.

Harry surveyed the paddock. The house-elves were hard at work around him, but their task in this paddock was nearly done. He figured it was all right to take a break. So he followed Tegen down the lane to her Grandmother’s cottage. 

Instead of the usual crockery, Tegen had (or rather, Bitty, likely at Tegen’s request) set the small table with fine, tiny teacups, and had a full service all laid out. 

They made their tea, and talked about flying, magical creatures, and the first spell she’d learn when she got to Hogwarts. Harry promised to take her flying soon, as long as her Grandmother consented. Harry wanted to make a seeker out of her. Or perhaps a chaser. Tegen even had questions about elemental magic she’d read about in a children’s book, but Harry wasn’t able to answer those. She was a very inquisitive child, who couldn’t wait to start learning magic. She reminded him a bit of Hermione in that way. Hermione probably knew the answers to the questions Tegen had just asked. 

Their conversation stalled for a moment, when Tegen said, “It’s going to be the best year yet! For the orchard, and for you, and for Uncle Neville.”

“And how do you know that?” Harry smiled indulgently. 

“I saw it, of course!” Tegen rolled her eyes, and Harry’s eyebrows rose. 

“And guess what? There’ll be so much rain for the rest of the year, we’ll barely need irrigation.” Tegen nodded, her words in a tone that plainly stated the words were indeed fact. 

Later, sitting at the kitchen table with Neville, it occurred to Harry.

“Hey, Nev’, why don’t you name the new apples after Tegen?” Harry asked. 

Neville smiled. That was perfect.

-ooo-  


**– 9 – Harvest’s End  
**  
_31 October, 2001_

All throughout the orchard was an immensely rewarding feeling of completion. All apples were picked, all trees were trimmed and pruned, stakes were planted, limbs were tied for training.

Twiggy either wasn’t quite ready for it to end, or was so frazzled that he’d lost it – he kept popping in to ask Neville which additional tasks needed to be completed. Neville was absolutely exhausted, but thankful. The harvest had been extremely plentiful, and all of the apples (aside from the ones set aside for their own stasis chamber) were on the way to various suppliers. It was time to sit back and relax for a bit. Neville knew he needed it, though he really thought having Harry there to help made things run a tad more smoothly than they had last harvest. 

He wondered if they should take a vacation – he’d never taken one. And then he wondered at his assumption that Harry would tag along – as if it were a foregone conclusion. 

As he ruminated on vacation destinations, Neville returned to his living room from a shower, feeling refreshed, though cold due to the contrast from the steam to the room with a slight chill. It was definitely Autumn. He planned on collapsing on the couch and doing a bit of reading. He wondered if one of the house-elves would mind bringing him some tea and biscuits. Harry was already there, in what Neville had come to think of as _his _armchair. 

Neville started to speak as he collapsed on the couch. “I want tea, and biscuits, so I know I shouldn’t sit. I’ve half a mind to ask one of the house-elves, but I know they’re exhausted too. I couldn’t possibly.” 

Harry smirked at him, and rose, wandering to the kitchen. Neville smiled, it sounded like he _might _have been making tea. Neville really hoped that he was. His eyes strayed to the tiny little pumpkins at the center of the coffee table - he’d placed them on many available surfaces. He smiled. He liked adding a little festivity to life. He hadn’t done much, but he thought the little pumpkins everywhere was a nice touch. 

A short while later, Harry returned, with two rather large mugs of tea in hand, and a tin of biscuits floating behind him. He lowered everything to the coffee table, and Neville wondered at when Harry had learned to make his tea how he liked it. They sipped their tea, and Neville lost a large chunk of his biscuit into the bottom of his tea. 

“How does it feel to be done? Well, for now, I mean.” Harry asked, his voice thick around a biscuit. 

“Yes, it never does really seem to be done, does it? Sometimes I do wish we only had the true seasons to rely on, but it’s rather more profitable this way, and a lot of our variations, well… We’re the only orchard that can provide them to the suppliers year-round. So, it’s worth it.” Harry nodded in acquiescence. He’d probably have the same complaint, but Neville’s answer made sense. 

“You’re right. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t get Bluebottle apples year-round!” Harry agreed. 

“I didn’t know those were your favorite – Actually, I didn’t really think you could choose a favorite!” Neville laughed. 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” But he smiled, and Neville smiled back. 

“Mate, it’s no secret that you love all the apples.” Neville said, trying to hold in his laughter. 

“That’s not true! I don’t particularly care for the… Well, no, wait... You’re right. I can’t think of one I don’t like…” Harry trailed off, a note of surprise in his voice. 

Neville found that he was surprised that _Harry _would be surprised. The surprise and confusion in Harry’s voice made him laugh. “I didn’t think so,” Neville managed to get out through his laughter. 

“Say, Neville,” Harry changed the subject, laughing. “What would you say to a bit of flying?” 

Neville blanched a bit. “I don’t know Harry… You know I never really was one for flying. What if I fall?”

“Well, first of all, I won’t let that happen. Second of all, we’ll stay low anyway, and we’ll start slow!” 

“But you know I’m a bit uncoordinated, and I’m not sure that I could really control a broom…” 

“Nonsense. If you don’t want to, we won’t. But I don’t want you to think there’s no way you can fly a broom – you’ve a wonderful command of magic. And you’re really not uncoordinated.” 

Neville perked up at the praise, but was still having a difficult time deciding. He thought about it a bit more. 

“Well… All right, Harry, I’ll give it a try.” Harry let out a whoop and ran to fetch the brooms. He returned wearing a jumper, and Neville thought that was a good idea, but was distracted when he saw the brooms Harry was carrying. 

“Wait a minute. Where did those come from? I thought you ran to the broom shed out back. Those weren’t in there!” Neville exclaimed. 

“So you’re saying you don’t want a go on my Nimbus 3000?” Harry somehow looked mildly offended. 

Neville audibly gulped. “Sounds… Fast.”

In the end, Neville’d had nothing to worry about. While he was nowhere near Harry’s speed, or ability, of course – Harry seemed to have been born to fly – Neville held his own rather well, and it took less than ten minutes for him to let go of his fear. While he started slowly, painstakingly, and carefully, soon he was soaring and speeding, back and forth, though he of course had nothing on Harry. And that was more than fine. 

The evening was colder than he’d like, but he felt warm with his own delight. The harvest was through – finished – done! He wanted to let out a whoop. And it was shaping up to be very successful. And he’d ridden a broom – quite well, at that! 

Harry smiled, upside down, the blustery fall wind helping to freeze his smile in place, as he watched Neville from the other end of the clearing. 

Minutes later, Neville slowly made his way over to Harry. 

“Harry, I just wanted to mention… I don’t know what you normally do today – I didn’t know if you wanted to go to the cemetery or anything?” 

Harry was taken aback. He wouldn’t have thought Neville would recognize the day, but honestly, he should have known that Neville would. It took Harry a while to respond. He hadn’t been since during the war. “I think I would…” he finally answered.

Neville smiled. “Do you want to take offerings?” 

“Offerings?” Harry was puzzled. “Like a ritual?” 

“No, not necessarily. Usually, you’ll light a candle, and give offerings like food, drink, objects of sentimental value… Things like that. But there’s no ritual to it. It’s just an offering. It’s meant to be a sign of respect, reverence. Something to do for someone’s memory.” 

“Could I take them some apples?” Harry said quietly, but his voice rang with hope. 

“Of course you can,” Neville smiled. 

And so they did. 

It was a perfect fall night, or at least it had been, until the heavens opened up, snuffing out the candle. Harry and Neville knelt in the rain, and though the rain was starting to seem near torrential, there was something about the rain that made Harry feel renewed. As if everything was being washed away.

-ooo-  


**– 10 – New Beginnings  
**  
_7 November, 2001_

They sat on the porch, silent. The only noise the wind rustling the leaves, and it danced through their clothing and hair. The hair on the back of Harry’s neck tickled as it fluttered with the wind, and he tugged on the neck of his tartan jumper. Neville had started to call it his Fall uniform, but really, it was his favorite jumper, Fall or not.

Neville’s long fringe danced around his forehead, but he kept combing it back with his fingers. As Neville ruminated on how he felt like a new person, he didn’t realize that Harry had been doing the same. 

They both reminisced on the time that had passed, and the changes in themselves since Harry’s arrival. For when Harry had arrived, he could acknowledge that he’d been kind of broken. That he’d just been going through the motions. That he wasn’t really living. That he didn’t really have anything that he was proud of. That he didn’t really have a purpose. He wasn’t really happy. He knew this, and just accepted it as a fact.

Neville though, as he thought to himself, knew that he wasn’t so badly off, but he could acknowledge that while he had purpose, toil, friendships, and so on… He hadn’t been doing a good job of balancing these things. He never really had since he’d taken over the orchard, though he thought that some times were better than others. 

But with the days and weeks that had passed since Harry’s arrival, Neville found himself adhering to balance. He found himself taking more days off, venturing off of the orchard more, spending more time with Tegen and Mrs. Beery, and not toiling late into the night. What shocked him the most is that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten lunch late, or skipped it entirely. While Neville was very introspective, he didn’t think he’d ever fully acknowledge how many of the changes in his behavior were actually due to Harry. Because Harry cared in a way that not a lot of people ever had. Harry wanted Neville to take care of himself. Harry wanted Neville to be productive, but to also enjoy himself. He wanted Neville to be happy, but also well adjusted. Balanced. Which were all of the same things that Neville wanted for Harry – because that was what friends were for. 

Things were different. Neville felt renewed. Harry felt reborn. 

Neither Neville nor Harry had fully realized it as the weeks had passed, but apparently all you really needed was a good friend. They smiled privately to themselves, thoughts flitting through their heads of how their friendship had grown over Harry’s stay. And that was the thing – Harry thought he’d smiled more over the duration of this trip than he had in years. 

It started to rain. Dry as they were on the covered porch, Neville stared out as the flagstones and dirt paths darkened with each raindrop. He closed his eyes and breathed in. He loved the smell of rain, the uniquely and unmistakably earthy scent that permeated the air. 

As selfish as it made him feel, Neville couldn’t help but get the feeling that with Harry’s renewed sense of purpose and self, he’d be leaving soon. Then, as if Neville had spoken aloud, Harry assuaged those fears – though not before unintentionally exacerbating them for just a moment. 

“Nev’,” Harry started. “I’ve got to take off.” 

Neville’s breath caught, but Harry didn’t hear it. 

“I need to get some things in order, but… Would it be all right if I… stayed… for, just a while longer?” Harry seemed to be having difficulty asking. “I’d probably only be gone a week, if that, and then I’ll be right back.” The rest of his words rushed out. **  
**   
“Of course,” Neville said with a smile. “Stay as long as you’d like.” 

****

The End

-ooo-  


**Author's Note:**

> This story/art is part of an anonymous fest: drizzle 2019. Reveals will be in mid-october. Please do not repost anywhere else without explicit permission from the original creator.


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